take every chain that kept us slaves and throw them off
by MissingMommy
Summary: Draco embarks on a journey he never planned to when he finds out what task awaits him on his seventeenth birthday. It's not at all what he expected. :: CharlieDraco, HTTYD!au, for Lo.


For Lo, because this is completely her fault.

Shout out to Amber, Bex, and Lizzy who all helped out with this. This is a HTTYD-esque!au. It mostly draws from the setting.

* * *

Charlie knows that they're not supposed to be here, eavesdropping on his parents with his older brother, but they both had been too curious about the hawk that arrived not too long before. He'll never forget how hard set his father's face became after reading the letter. A council meeting had been called immediately, and the adults had shut themselves in the war council chambers.

Luckily, the two of them had found out about the adjacent room which was an excellent place to hear things they weren't meant too. The two of them sit quietly, each facing one another. It's easy to distinguish the voices from each other—Mrs Thomas has a honeyed voice, one that never fails to leave Charlie wanting salt water taffy; Mr Patil has low, harsh voice that makes listening in on him difficult, while his wife speaks in a light, whimsical way; Mrs Brown talks surly which never fails to rub Charlie in the wrong way; Mr Creevey is always jubilant, his words coated with happiness. Today, though, Mr Creevey sound solemn when he speaks.

"There has to be a way around this," he says hopefully. "Surely, we don't have to swear loyalty to the new High Chief."

"There are only two options here," Charlie's father says, sounding more defeated than he's ever been before. "We either prove our loyalty or we try to outrun Tom Riddle. And there's no guarantee we could outrun him long. He will not let us live here, or anywhere, if we don't accept him as our new High Chief."

"By the look on your face, I don't think I want to know what is required to prove fealty," Mrs Brown expresses lowly.

Charlie hears his father inhale sharply. "He requires we slaughter all adult dragons, and force each —"

He doesn't hear what else Tom Riddle requires; he's too busy storming into the war council chamber, Bill hot on his heels, despite knowing he shouldn't be listening, much less interfering in a council meeting. He can feel his heart pounding in his ears. "He can't do that!" he calls. "That's barbaric, Dad. Dragons have done nothing to deserve this...this fate. They are our partners, our _friends_ , an extension of ourselves. Not something we should kill just because one person says so."

His father sighs, rubbing at his face with wariness. "Son, what ar—"

"Who even requires killing a dragon that has been with you since you were young anyways? What does that even prove?" he continues hotly, grimacing.

"Son, pl—"

"Why would we even follow someone like that? How did he get voted as High Chief, anyways? It doesn't sound like—"

He feels the weight of a hand on his shoulder. He turns a little to see his mother standing next to him. He hadn't even heard her come in from sending Percy to bed and tucking in the twins.

"Dear, there's more at stake here than just the dragons," she tells him softly, sadly.

"I'm not killing Elyria, or letting anyone do so," he says stubbornly. "I refuse."

His mother doesn't look surprised by his statement. She sweeps back his hair with a gentle hand, like she does when he's ill. She murmurs something under her breath before shaking her head. "Since there isn't anything that will dissuade you, join the rest of us at the table. You too, Bill."

Her words snaps Charlie out of his rage. His vision is no longer narrowed to just his father and his anger. The rest of the men and women that make up the council seem impassive at his mother's request.

They've been in here a few times while the council discussed less pressing matters, to observe and learn about being Chief when their father deemed them old enough. Bill has taken to it like Charlie has taken to Elyria. There has never been any doubt in Charlie's mind that Bill would make a great Chief when their father steps down.

They step up to the table, the entirety of their known world map carved into the dark wood. Their world is large, with seven other villages growing on different islands in the massive Black Ocean, and an eighth island that serves as the home of the High Council in the middle of them. Castelobruxo lies to the east of them, the closest to the edge of the map, while Hogwarts lies to the northwest and Ilvermorny to the south. They are the three closest villages, but travel still takes several days at best.

"If we refuse him, it will be as good as declaring war, wouldn't it?" Bill inquires, looking away from the map. He sounds older than his ten summers.

His father's eyes shine with pride when he says, "It would. That is our choice—swear loyalty and avoid war or refuse and put every single person in this village at risk. It's not a choice we need to make lightly."

This is why Charlie knows that he could never be a Chief—his father told him once that he's too passionate and he only knows how to operate in extremes. When problems come up about things he is passionate about, he only sees it in black and white, never in greys.

Even now, he would be willing to risk the life of every person in this village to keep from killing even one dragon. He bites his inner cheek to keep from demanding the council to decline Tom Riddle's request. He knows he can only make an argument for it, but he can't choose for them.

Mr Patil leans over the table. "I agree with you, Arthur; if we refuse, he will not allow us to live here. We either stay here, where Tom Riddle knows exactly where we are and how to attack, or we go in search of land large enough to colonize."

Charlie sees where there are small islands in between each of the great villages. Yet, they are too small to live on for only one person or a handful; they will never work for a village as large as Beauxbatons.

Mrs Thomas's sweet voice rings out as she points to the east of Castelobruxo, then to the north of Hogwarts, and then to the south of Ilvermorny. "Our forefathers never sailed beyond these islands. There could be land there."

"They never sailed beyond because they couldn't. The water is too dangerous to cross," Mrs Brown points out sharply, her voice hard as metal. "And there's no guarantee that there will be land beyond. It's a risky, at best; at worst, it's a death sentence for us all."

Their father turns away from his council members, looking at Bill and Charlie. "What do you two have to say about this?"

Charlie tries to sort through all the information the council has given, but he's still stuck on his father's words: _he requires we slaughter all adult dragons._

"Aren't we all assuming that he won't try to track us down even if we leave?" Bill questions, pulling Charlie out of his thoughts.

Arthur fights a smile. "We are." Then he shifts to survey his council and then the map again. After a long moment, he speaks, his voice carrying a weight to it. "Our boats are stronger than our forefathers'. We have enough food and supplies to last us several months at sea. I'm sure we can come up with a way to protect our people and fight this war. Before we go any further, is there any person who does not wish for us to decline Tom Riddle's demands?"

Charlie feels relief flood his body when nobody raises their hands. Their dragons will be safe.

His mother puts a hand on each of their shoulders. "I do believe it's time to sleep while the council plans."

"Wait!" he states, pausing from where his mother is gently guiding them towards the door. "What about the eggs, Dad? Who knows what he could do with the two Ironbelly eggs we have!"

"We will decide what to do with the eggs, Son. I'm sure the rest of us can agree that we wouldn't want the eggs to fall into the wrong hands," his father replies. "Have a little faith that we care about our dragons too."

Charlie flushes red. He didn't mean to imply that they didn't, but he knows that there are few that share his level of enthusiasm for their companions. He follows Bill out the door quietly.

Their trip to their house is a quiet one. Bill turns away from their house, looking out towards the houses and shops that make up their villages. Then he meets Charlie's eyes. "You never did answer Dad. What did you think about this risk?"

"I think it's something worth fighting. A person who wants to kill dragon is not a good one," he replies.

His brother ruffles his hair, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Of course you would base how good someone is on whether or not they'd harm a dragon."

When he opens the door, he sees a pair of yellow eyes blinking at him. He smiles. At three, Elyria is still small enough to sleep inside with him. Bill's dragon, Calix, has grown too big and has to sleep in the stables with the other dragons.

Cautiously, Bill and Charlie search blindly for the candle to light. They require light to see since Elyria's dark purple-black scales make it difficult to determine what is part of the dragon and what is their furniture even with dim moonlight.

They make it to their room carefully and blow out the candle. Once he gets settled, Elyria curls up along his feet and legs, her snout resting against his stomach. Her exhales keep him warm as he drifts off to sleep, thankful he won't lose her.

* * *

Draco holds tightly to his mother's hand as she leads him along the bridge that links the main island with the dragon cave. Today, he turned five, which means he's old enough to call forth his dragon.

The island formation the dragon cave dwells on are only a fourth of the size of Koldovstoretz, but they run further into the ground that anyone would ever dare dig. Some say that the dragons had dug the cave for their eggs centuries ago; it's Draco's favorite bedtime story.

Nobody is allowed up here until they turn five, and Draco's excited to see what the cave really looks like. Once they're across the bridge, his mother lets go of his hand. "After you enter, you'll start to feel something. Just let that feeling guide you to your dragon. I'll be watching."

He nods and she pats his cheek gently. Excitedly, he walks towards the opening of the cave. He's overwhelmed by the heat.

But he's determined. He takes a step in and he almost forgets about the overwhelming heat. There are so many eggs in the cave that he's filled with wonder.

Most of them are brown with small green spots, or large grey eggs that remind him of rocks, or green ones with black and brown spots. Among the others are light purple ones, blue and red ones, black eggs, and pink and blue ones. His favorite, though, are the red eggs that shine like fire. He secretly hopes that his dragon is a Fireball; they're all red like their eggs with golden horns and he loves red.

He turns back to look at his mother, not understanding what feeling she was referring to. She motions for him to go further. He takes a step, and then another, and another.

Finally, he feels a tug of a sort in his chest and he follows it. It leads him to one of the large grey eggs. It's almost as tall as he is. When he reaches out to touch it, it feels like a warm and smooth.

From the depth of his heart he can feel that this is _his_ dragon. It feels like magic when his mouth instinctively forms around the dragon's name: "Elio."

The egg shakes, nearly tipping over. Draco scurries back, tripping on a different egg in his hurry. He bumps into something else. When he looks, his mother is smiling at him. He relaxes against her legs as her hands comes to rest on either shoulder.

His egg shakes again, harder. A small crack breaks the smooth surface. It shakes again, the crack becoming bigger. More cracks start to appear as it continues to shake.

After what seems like an eternity, the egg stills for a brief moment. Then when it shakes again, the shell breaks into pieces.

The dragon is smaller than Draco thought it would be. He's disappointed to see that it—he, Draco knows—doesn't have any scales, only boney looking wings with translucent skin covering them and a thin, spiny body. He shakes the egg shell pieces off his cream hide and looks around the cave.

Draco's mother gives him a gentle push forward. He crosses the remaining distances without hesitation; he knows Elio would never hurt him.

Elio looks straight into Draco's eyes. The dragon's eyes appear to be colorless and all of the colors he's ever seen at the same time. Bending down, he holds his hand out, not quite touching Elio. He watches as his dragon sniffs the air for a moment before headbutting Draco's hand.

He grins as he touches Elio. He's never been able to touch a dragon before; his parents' dragons stay in the stables at the other side of the island, and he's been taught not to touch anyone else's dragons his whole life. The hide is rougher than he's expecting.

Elio draws back and exhales hotly. He turns to look at his mother, grinning broadly.

"Come, Draco, the entire village is waiting to see your dragon. We'd best get him some food as well."

He scoops his dragon into his arms, careful not to hurt him, and follows his mother out of the cave. It's tough to hold a dragon almost as big as himself, but he manages it. It helps that the dragon's lighter than he was expecting, barely heavier than a candleholder. He seems frail when he shivers when they exit. Draco pulls him closer, and winces when Elio digs his wing bones into his arms.

When they arrive at their great hall, his mother pushes the door open for him. It seems like the entire village has shown up for this moment. The crowd erupts in cheers as Draco walks towards his father at the back of the hall.

Despite not wanting to let go, he presents Elio in front of his father, loudly and clearly saying his name. His dragon doesn't move more than centimeter from him. His father doesn't look pleased when he studies Elio and Draco frowns. It's almost as if Elio is connected to his feelings because his dragon turns his head to see Draco before trying to climb up his clothes. He scoops Elio up easily.

"An Opaleye," his father announces, motioning to the whole hall. "Let us celebrate the Opaleye's hatching and Draco's fifth birthday!"

The crowd cheers once more before moving to take a seat at the tables. The cooks bring out their food, and a stableman brings out a bowl of warmed chicken blood mix for Elio.

Draco watches as his dragon eats, wondering why his father wasn't pleased about him.

* * *

By the time morning dawns, most of the fires have been extinguished, leaving almost half of the buildings in Koldovstoretz a smouldering shell. Draco almost blends into the shadows of the war council chambers as he listens raptly to the reports.

"All of the guard towers have been destroyed beyond repair. We will be required to rebuild them," Mr Nott tells the councilmen.

When Mr Greengrass speaks, there's something in his tone that strikes Draco as odd but he can't figure out why. "While a majority of our businesses have been attacked, it appears that no one was harmed during this raid. The forge and the armory are the only one to have been damaged beyond repair and the food storages have been hit."

Mr Parkinson continues on, "The dragon cave has been looted while the fight was ensuing. The enemy took nearly three quarters of all the eggs. Only the Horntails, Opaleyes, and Common Greens remain."

This is the second time Koldovstoretz has been attacked in five years, but the first time the enemy has breached their dragon cave. Their protection of the cave was impenetrable or so Draco thought.

"Of course," his father sneers. "They leave the Horntail eggs because they're too heavy and the others because they are useless in battle."

Draco swallows around the words of Elio isn't useless. He's learned much in the past five years; the most important thing may be that his father views the Opaleyes and Common Greens as pathetic and worthless since they don't do well in battle as the other breeds. His father believes Draco should've chosen a more suitable dragon like the Ridgeback he calls his own, despite the fact that the dragon chooses their rider.

"What are your thoughts, Draco?"

"I think they were aiming to cripple us while stealing the eggs," he replies, feeling the eyes of all the councilmen on him. He refuses to squirm under the scrutiny.

The stealing of the eggs is the most damaging part of this, he thinks. Not anyone can call a dragon from their egg. A person cannot call a dragon from their egg if they weren't meant to care for it. With a majority of the other eggs gone, their dragon force will fall as no new dragons are hatched.

The corners of his father's lip twitch, and Draco feels victorious. "And what would you do about it?"

He hesitates, thinking it over a for long moment. "Send a group of trackers out to scout while we try to find what is salvageable from the armory and forge."

"Nott, gather a small group of your men; you will look for these traitors. Parkinson will head the salvage task. Greengrass, gather what guards are left to patrol. Wilkes will work to ensure the food is rationed," his father declares, waving a hand.

The councilmen wordlessly dismiss themselves to follow their orders. Sullenly, Draco moves to follow when he's called to stop. His father scribbles furiously on a piece of parchment before he seals it with wax. He hands it to Draco.

"Send this to the High Council with our fastest hawk. You should've remember that in your post attack analysis."

The sound of disappointment in his father's voice stings. "Yes, Father. I'll take that into account next time."

His father just waves him away.

Draco take the letter to the hawks and watches as one flies off into the distance. He turns back and wonders when will the fighting will end. Too many are needlessly being hurt.

He finds himself in the stables after, sitting with Elio's head in his lap. Over the years, cream hide has grown in between the wing bones, covering the translucent membrane that was once there, and pearly-white scales have grown to cover most of Elio's body. His eyes still look colorless and kaleidoscope at the same time which never ceases to amaze him.

"I won't let them hurt you," he assures his dragon as he runs his hand over Elio's head.

Elio huffs a breath of hot air in response, his eyes closing peacefully.

* * *

Draco knows that something is wrong the moment Theo walks into the great hall. His best friend had been beyond excited about his coming of age ceremony for the past two weeks, but now, Theo is wearing a pained smile. He frowns, noticing that Theo is not wearing the same ceremonial robe as he was before; it's barely noticeable as this one is just a smidge too loose, but he's sees it because he wants to find an explanation for Theo's mood change.

Draco watches from his place behind his father as Theo's father gives Theo a proud smile, clapping him on the shoulder before allowing him to continue on.

Theo kneels in front of Draco's father. His voice is soft but firm when he says, "The final goodbye was made."

"Very well. Rise and join us as a brother," his father commands. He gestures to the crowd that has attended this ceremony. "Let's give a toast to Theodore."

He watches as the adults in the room raise their glasses in union. It's only because he's grown up with Theo that he can recognize how uncomfortable his friend is.

As soon as Theo is dismissed, Draco slips away, knowing he'll be reprimanded later but deeming this worth any consequence. By the time he catches up, Blaise has joined Theo.

Blaise shakes his head when Draco nods once at Theo.

"You got out of there as if you were on fire," Draco comments, announcing his arrival to Theo. "I thought for sure you'd stay for your first legal drink."

When his friend meets his eyes, there's unshed tears shining. It takes him aback; Theo's never been one to cry, even when he broke his arm when he tried to ride Aio at eight years old.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"He won't say. Keeps saying he can't say," Blaise says, casting a worried look at Theo.

Draco raises an eyebrow. "I'm the son of the Chief. There isn't anything I don't know."

This is the wrong thing to say because tears spill over Theo's cheek as he shoves Draco angrily. "Oh you know everything, don't you? Then why ask if you knew? Why wouldn't you tell either of us? Why?"

Stunned, Draco looks at Blaise for help, but his friend looks just as confused as he feels. Theo continues to shove at Draco's shoulder, asking the same question louder and louder. They're drawing the attention of the few who weren't attending Theo's coming of age ceremony, and he's mentally thinking of the best way to handle it when Astoria Greengrass intervenes.

"I think this should be moved inside, don't you?" she asks, her tone leaving no room for arguments. "My house is the closest. We can go there and sort this out there easily, don't you think?"

Theo is the first one to step forward. She turns on her heels and starts leading the way to the Greengrass residence, stray hairs falling out of her tight braids as she moves. Draco casts a look at Blaise, who only frowns, shrugs, and follows Theo. Draco's only choice is to follow his friends if he wants an explanation.

The door is barely shut when Draco gestures to it and asks, "What the hell was that?"

Theo looks guilty as he meets Draco's eyes, and he clearly is conflicted. "I can't—"

"He had to kill his dragon," Astoria cuts across, her voice sharp and her green eyes studying Blaise and Draco. She looks almost as fearsome as her dragon, Rhya.

"That isn't possible," Blaise argues. "Aio's has just been sent to the High Council like all the others."

Draco doesn't miss the look of surprise on Theo's tearstained face as he looks to her. Draco narrows his eyes. "And how would you know something like that? You're barely fifteen and Daphne is still months away from her seventeenth birthday."

"She's right though," Theo says thickly. He swallows. Apparently, when Theo starts to talk, everything comes pouring out. "When I reached the cliff this morning, your father told me that I was required to kill A—kill him as proof of my loyalty to him and the High Chief by sunset. I was forbidden from recounting what happened to anyone younger than me. My father told me to make him proud and then they left me to kill him."

Draco opens and closes his mouth several times, trying to think of a response but finding none. How could they be hiding the fact that they are killing dragons?

"I guess you don't know everything after all," Theo says bitterly.

Blaise scrubs his hand across his face, sinking further into the chair he's sitting at. "I don't think I could kill Piala."

He listens to the quiet admission, and thinks about Elio. Could he really kill a dragon that has grown with him for the last twelve years? After everything Elio had seen him through—his grandmother's death, the attacks on the village, and every single time he's disappointed his father. Could he really look into those colorless, kaleidoscopic eyes and shove a sword into Elio's heart?

He sags into the seat next to Blaise. He has no words to make this better for Theo. Dear gods, Theo killed Aio—had to kill Aio. He thinks briefly of the few who hadn't returned to the great hall for their birthday ceremony. How could he have been this blind?

Theo's voice breaks the silence that has fallen upon them. "How do you know of the ceremony?"

"Do you really think everyone is happy killing their dragon? Or that everyone keeps quiet about it?" Astoria asks, the corner of her mouth twitching. "We were planning on fleeing the day of Daphne's ceremony. We had to wait until Father's dragon was old enough and strong enough to leave."

Suddenly, Draco is ten again, listening to her father give the damage report. The unexplainable tone in his voice makes sense now. "Your family has been aiding Dumbledore's Army since the beginning, haven't you? Nobody could get past the dragon cave's defense and then they did."

To Astoria's credit, she doesn't try to lie. "The real question here is what are the three of you going to do about it? The way I see it, there are two options: either you turn me and my family in for treason and still have to kill your dragon with little hope of hatching another, or my family can speed up the preparations of our departure and you can join us in Dumbledore's Army where you'd never have to kill Elio and Piala."

He feels the weight of Blaise and Theo's stares as he studies her. She stands tall in the face of possibly being branded as a traitor. The whole village has seen what becomes of traitors—the deafening roars of the dragon being whipped until it finally sets their rider ablaze—and yet, she doesn't cower. She's braver than he's ever dared to be.

He turns to see what Blaise and Theo think. They both nod at him, their hands slipping together to clasp tightly. Blaise pleads with his eyes and his words, "I know you don't want to kill Elio anymore than I want to kill Piala. This sounds like the only choice where neither of us have to."

He inhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. Blaise is right. _Gods help me,_ he thinks to himself. "When will be the earliest you'll be ready?"

He hears the relieved sigh from Blaise. There's a ghost of a smile on Theo's lips that fades as quickly as it comes.

Astoria gives him a breathtaking smile. "A week, a week and a half at latest."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Blaise inquires.

She shakes her head. "Nothing beyond not telling anyone about this. I'll come for you the night before with instructions."

Draco nods. Then he turns on his heels and leaves. He walks the familiar path to the stables, lost in his own thoughts. Draco saddles Elio and together they fly through the dark skies.

Is he truly capable of betraying his village just to save Elio's life? It's a question that haunts him for the rest of the night.

* * *

A week and a half later, Draco finds himself back in the Greengrass' residence with Blaise and Theo. There's a map spread across their table when they're welcomed inside.

At the noise, Mr Greengrass raises his eyes to meet Draco's. Daphne, who is standing beside her father, huffs out a short laugh. "Tori said you wanted to come, but I couldn't quite believe it."

"Now is not the time for that, Daphne," her father says sharply. "We have a very short window in which we could leave without being detected long enough to throw them off our trail. In the next two hours, the Trackers from the east are due to arrive. We'll use that as our cover to leave."

Draco's been attending council meetings since he was seven; he's used to hearing battle plans. He knows how to poke holes through even the best laid plans. "The D.A. resides in the east. We'd be leading them right towards the people you want to join."

Mr Greengrass gives Draco a half-smile, the ones he gives when he's proud that Draco has spotted something the other councilmen haven't. "Yes, and no. Dragons fly faster than boats sail. We'd need a lot more supplies than what our dragons can carry to make it to our destination. There's a post to the southwest that has a ship waiting for us with all the supplies we need. Sending them off towards the east will give us just enough distraction to escape."

Draco tilts his head, considering. He listens as the other man lays out the plans. And thinks, _huh, this might actually work._

When the plans are laid out, Blaise asks, "Theo doesn't have a dragon. Isn't that going to hinder our escape?"

"Not at all. Mileva, Rhya, and Caius are all strong enough to carry another rider. The two that aren't will carry the supplies for the other one," Daphne answers. She lifts her eyes to meet Theo's. "You'll have to pick now so that Tori and I can get them ready."

Theo shrugs and answers, "Mileva is fine."

Daphne motions to Astoria and the two of them start to leave. "We'll see you all in the stables."

Mr Greengrass puts two muffins on the table. The tops are slathered with some mixture; Draco would never touch anything like this in his life, but Crabbe and Goyle are known to inhale any food in sight. He can see why Mr Greengrass hasn't been outed as a spy before now—he plans everything through meticulously.

Draco reaches for the muffins, since it's been decided that it would look less suspicious if he gives them to the Trackers, when he feels a hand on his wrist.

"Are you boys sure this is what you want to do? Because there is no coming back from this. They will brand you as traitors and they aren't known to be very kind when dealing with such."

"I'm sure," Theo replies. "I can't be apart of a village that demands the death of a companion as a sign of loyalty."

"He's also hoping that the D.A. would allow him to attempt to hatch a second dragon," Blaise says, bumping shoulders with him. "And I can't stay here with Piala, especially knowing what fate has in store for her if I stay."

Mr Greengrass gives Draco a very pointed look. "And you, my boy?"

It's the same question he's been asking himself since Theo's birthday. He thinks about his friend crying after Aio. He knows he won't be able to change the stance of his village, but he can make sure his dragon doesn't suffer the same fate.

Draco picks up the muffins. "I wouldn't have come if I wasn't sure I wanted this."

He ignores the look of pride in Mr Greengrass' eyes and heads for the southern docks, where the Trackers always land since it's right beside the stables.

Crabbe and Goyle are dumb as they are cruel, and it takes no coaxing for them to devour the muffins Draco presents them. Goyle sways first, his eyes slipping shut.

"I don't think you made it potent enough," Draco comments as he hooks his arms under the left side of Goyle's body. Blaise has his other arm over his shoulder as they try to drag him into the armory.

"I wasn't trying to kill them," Mr Greengrass grunts. He and Theo have the task of moving Crabbe.

Once the two of them are bound and gagged in a dusty corner of the armory, the four of them head directly to the stables. Daphne and Astoria have saddled all five of the dragons and have strapped on their supplies.

They quickly split off to slide into their saddles. After he hooks himself into Elio's saddle, he taps against his scales softly and Elio takes to the sky. He directs his dragon towards the setting sun as he was commanded.

Piala, Rhya, and Mileva join Elio in the sky. Rhya and Mileva fly on the either side of him and Blaise for protection, just in case they are attacked. Mr Greengrass went east with the bundle of clothes they stripped off Crabbe and Goyle, luring their dragons to one of the small, uninhabitable islands. He hadn't gone into much detail about how he was going to keep the dragons away, and Draco didn't ask.

They land on one of the islands to the west when the sun starts to sink, and wait for Mr Greengrass to catch up with them. The island is small and cramped, but it's some place to rest.

Astoria and Daphne sit rigidly, their dragons curled around them the best they could. Blaise, Theo, and Draco shift through their bags until they find the bags of food. They ration it between the five of them and eat quietly. They don't dare light a fire just in case a Tracker is nearby, but their dragons keep them warm enough.

* * *

Draco doesn't know how long they've been trapped on this boat, but it makes his skin crawl. Even worse than being confined to a ship is the fact that their dragons are kept under the deck to ensure no one sees them. He spends most of his time with Elio; he likes to pretend it's because his dragon doesn't like to be cooped up and needs company when it's really him.

He praises the gods when the ship finally docks after what feels like weeks of rough waters. He can see the sea meet the sky in the distance almost everywhere he turns, only occasionally being obscured by small islands.

He steps onto the dock after Blaise. It reminds him a lot of Koldovstoretz, and his heart aches with homesickness. There's a part of him that wants to go home, but he knows that he can't anymore, so he buries that feeling as deep in his chest as he can and follows Mr Greengrass.

This village doesn't seem much different than his own; he can see the making of businesses and houses, and even further, overlooking the entire village sits a large great hall. It appears that all the villagers have stopped what they were doing to gawk as they're lead towards the great hall. It's a good thing he's used to having all eyes trained on him.

There's fewer people in the great hall than he was expecting. At the sound of the doors opening, a man with vivid red hair starts to walk to meet them. He and Mr Greengrass embrace as if they've known each other for years. "Glad to see you made it, Ivan."

"We're grateful that you allowed us to join you, Arthur," Mr Greengrass replies. "We are here to serve you now."

"I see you've brought recruits," Arthur says, looking towards Draco, Theo, and Blaise. It's clear that he's viewed as the Chief by the way that silence falls upon the hall when he speaks.

Draco shakes his head. "We're not here to fight. We didn't want to kill our dragons."

He watches as the man processes this information, studying him and his friends with a critical eye. From behind him, another redhead angrily approaches them. He can tell their relation, not just from their hair, but they have the same crystal blue eyes and the hardset of their mouth.

"Not fighting is just as bad as killing your dragon," the newcomer declares hotly. "The only way to—"

"You must forgive Charlie. He generally forgets that fighting isn't a decision he can make for others," Arthur interrupts, putting his arm out to keep his son from approaching further. "You're more than welcome to stay here at Hogsmeade. The only things we ask in return is that you don't fly off without letting someone know, and that you help out in the village in any way you can."

Charlie flushes red at his father's statement, which clashes horribly with his hair. But Draco can't tell if it's from embarrassment or anger. Putting that thought aside, he turns his attention back to Arthur.

"Of course," Draco responds, nodding his head once.

A smile tugs at Arthur's lip. "Fantastic. Now that that's sorted, we can figure out living arrangements. And I assume that you all would like to take your dragons for a fly after the trip. My daughter, Ginny, can accompany you all on a quick flight and show you to the village."

At the mention of her name, Ginny comes to greet all of them, her smile soft but guarded. "I sure hope your dragons would want to fly. I can barely keep Aoibh cooped up for more than an hour, much less three weeks."

"There is the trouble that young Theodore went through with the coming of age ceremony," Ivan announces. It's weird to think of Mr Greengrass as anything but that, after spending his entire life referring to his elders by a title and last name only; it's going to take time to grow accustomed to it.

Charlie opens his mouth, and all Draco can think is, _dear gods, he's going to be insufferable._ Then his sister puts a hand on his arm and he snaps his mouth closed.

"For the safety of the eggs, we don't keep them at Hogsmeade. It's a three day journey by dragon to the location," Arthur informs them. "Bill and Percy will take him to our eggs at first light."

Theo steps in front of Draco and nods. "Thank you for this opportunity."

He's barely finished saying it when Ginny gives a bright smile. She steps forward, easily giving out orders as if she was born to. "Charlie, why don't you join us? I know you're dying to see what dragons they have. Theodore," she addresses, and quickly corrects herself upon his request, "Theo, you can fly one of ours for tonight."

"We'll have living arrangements sorted by the time you land for dinner," a woman says. Draco has no doubt that she is Arthur's wife; she has the same brown eyes as Ginny, and naturally gravitates towards Arthur. There's a warmth in her smile that makes Draco miss his own mother, even if she had never been too warm in her affections.

After three long weeks, Draco barely slides into the saddle before Elio takes to the sky. There's nothing that beats the feel of the wind whipping around him. It takes a long time to guide Elio to the stables where Charlie and Ginny are saddling their dragons and one for Theo.

Draco is awestruck by Ginny's dragon when they finally take to the sky. He's never seen a dragon like hers before; it's larger than any other dragon he's come across, with scales as grey as the egg he hatched Elio from and eyes as red as fresh blood. He can only guess that hers is an Ironbelly—he had thought they were nothing more than a legend.

He wonders what other secrets these people have been keeping.

* * *

He wakes to a pounding on the door. He's alert within moments, sleep disappearing in an instant. He tugs on his boots without bothering to spend the extra couple of seconds to pull on socks first and dons the closest shirt before he heads to the door.

In the living room, Blaise rubs sleep out of his eyes. He yawns around his question. "What's going on?"

He shakes his head, and leaves his roommate without any comment. Parvati Patil waits for him on the other side of the door. She looks grim as lightning flashes behind her, and Draco knows that the situation must be dire if he's being summoned.

He tugs his at the end of his thin shirt, cursing the fact that he didn't think to bring a jacket as icy rain soaks him. Madam Pomfrey's house sits the closest to the stables, so she frequently wakes to heal injured people in her house before they are moved to a hut to finish healing.

The house in which him, Theo, and Blaise live in with another isn't too far from the healer's house. There's a surprising amount of people in her house. He quickly reads the situation—Ginny sits in the corner with a cloth against her cheek; little Vicky Frobisher puts all of her weight into putting pressure on a cloth that's pressed against Dean Thomas' arm; the other healer-in-training, Seamus, is assisting Madam Pomfrey with the worst one.

Colin Creevey had just turned sixteen the week before, but he looks so small laid out against the table Madam Pomfrey keeps in her living room. Around his right shoulder is a set of teeth marks that have punctured the skin. They look deep.

The skin around the teeth marks is yellowish, and the rest of his skin glimmers from sweat. His body twitches uncontrollably. Draco inhales sharply. He's seen the signs of poison before, and he can already tell Madam Pomfrey and Seamus are fighting a losing battle. The bite is too close to Colin's heart for them to keep it from spreading.

He's learned much in the six months he's mentored under the village's healer, but dealing with poison hasn't been one of them. He'd just be a hindrance if he tries to help now, because he hopes that maybe, _just maybe_ , Madam Pomfrey can pull Colin from the grasps of death.

Instead, he goes to Dean, who looks worse off than Ginny does. The noise of the rest of the room, all the conversations and crying, fade from his mind as he focuses on the task at him. Dean's sitting on the stairs, leaning against the pillar as Vicky pushes on his left arm. He covers the girl's blood soaked hands and pulls both her hands and the cloth away for a moment to see what he's working with.

It looks like a single claw dug into his upper arm. It's deep, but it looks like it missed anything important. He moves his hand away, allowing Vicky to resume putting pressure on it, while he gathers what he needs.

He gives Dean a potion for the pain before offering him a strap to bite down on. Vicky moves out of his way. He sits beside the other man. "You're going to need to stay as still as possible."

Dean bites down on the proffered strap and nods once. He does as bidded while Draco cleans the wound and stitches it up, only twitching a few times throughout.

Draco goes to tie a clean strip of cloth around the wound when he hears the table shake. He glances up as Madam Pomfrey orders, "Turn him to his side."

Colin shakes violently as they keep him on his side. "What's happening to my brother?" a voice demands. Draco looks just in time to see Colin's younger brother push past Vicky. He sounds out of his mind when he repeats his question. "What's happening? Colin! Colin!"

Before Dennis can go any further, a pair of arms wraps around his waist, tugging him back. " _Let me go_!" he roars. " _Colin_!"

Ginny has abandoned the cloth she was holding to keep Dennis back. "Let them work. Have faith, Dennis."

He doesn't stop struggling in Ginny's arms, or repeating his brother's name. Draco can tell the moment that it goes wrong—several emotions flicker across Dennis' face, all too quick to identify. Ginny, whose mouth had been hardset as she held him back, grimaces and tightens her hold on the boy.

"COLIN! HE'S NOT BREATHING! WHY ISN'T HE BREATHING?"

Draco looks at Madam Pomfrey and Seamus, both of them have tears in their eyes. But then, she crosses the distance between the table and Dennis. She gathers him in her arms and hugs him tightly, whispering condolences into his hair.

Dennis sobs against her chest. "He can't be dead. He _can't_."

Draco swallows thickly and slips out the door. Going back to his house, he quietly takes the bottle of firewhiskey that Oliver keeps in the living room so he doesn't wake the others and leaves again.

He takes a drink, grimacing at the burn, and lets his feet lead him wherever they want to go. He's unsurprised when he ends up in the stables; he's always sought out Elio when he's upset.

Elio comes out of his stall and lays his head in Draco's lap when he collapses to the floor. Elio exhales hotly against his clothes, and he all but forgot how cold he was before. The alcohol and Elio's hot breath should warm him, and yet it doesn't. He only feels numb.

He doesn't know how much time has passed when he hears the sounds on a dragon landing.

"Are you getting drunk?"

Draco glances up to see Charlie standing in front of him. Just what he needs after a terrible night. "I would think that would be quite obvious."

"Why are you getting drunk?"

"I don't believe that's any concern of yours, Weasley," he snaps, closing his eyes. He still sees Dennis' devastation so he takes another drink, desperately wanting to forget. When he opens his eyes again, the redhead still hasn't moved. "What part of it's none of your goddamn business did you not understand?"

"I didn't peg you as one to get drunk," Charlie comments. It sounds offhanded, but Draco knows that it's a subtle way to egg him into answering the question.

Despite knowing this, there's just enough alcohol in his system that the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. "You would want to get drunk if you just watched someone die."

He watches as Charlie's face morphs from intrigued to confusion before settling on horror. "What?"

"Creevey," Draco answers bitterly. "I'd wager a Vipertooth or Ridgeback bit him while he was out where he had no business being. But you don't care about that, right? Just along as the dragons don't get killed."

Charlie's cheeks go red, clashing with his hair. His voice is low when he growls, "Don't you dare assume I don't care when someone dies."

He studies the redhead, realizing he's never seen the other man truly angry before. His body is taunt and his cheeks are bright red and his hands are balled into fists so tight that his knuckles are white. He looks ready to fight and yet Draco can't keep from arguing.

"Why? It's only the truth. The only thing you care about are the dragons. You convince kids to fight in a pointless war so that your precious dragons don't die. Instead, you and your family let children die."

Charlie shakes with rage before he takes a deep breath in, calming himself. He unclenches his fists. "You'll find that every person is here because they believe that this is something worth fighting for. But you wouldn't know about what that feels like."

He snorts. "Why would I fight when it's a losing battle? The only thing that achieves is people needlessly dying. Like Creevey."

"Sometimes, the only way to change things is by force," Charlie says. "And this happens to be one of those times. He didn't needlessly die because this isn't a losing battle."

Draco pushes himself up, dislodging Elio from where he's resting his head who huffs at him, and stands. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Weasley."

He grabs the bottle and makes his way back towards his house. He drinks himself to sleep and wakes up screaming at the memories of Colin.

* * *

Draco sinks down into bench at the table with a sigh. He's exhausted from spending most of the day helping in the sick hut. He pushes his food around his plate, not really hungry but knowing he needs to eat.

The clacking of plates against the table brings him out of his thoughts and he shoves food into his mouth. He glances up to see Theo, Blaise, Astoria, and Daphne have all joined him. It's a rarity when the five of them get a chance to sit down for a meal together with all of their jobs working different hours on top of the mandatory guard duty.

Astoria has been spending every waking moment in the stables, learning how to tend to the dragons to keep them healthy. Daphne joins her father in war council and on missions, which means that she's not often in the village and when she is, she's in the great hall discussing battle strategy. Blaise has taken to making all the salves, creams, and potions the healers could need, but it always seems like the delivery times always seems to differ from the ones Draco's works. Theo has been content to change from being a farmer in the early days to helping around the forge, making weapons and saddles for the dragons.

It's good to see them, especially Blaise and Theo who are difficult to see even when he lives with them, but he just wants to be left alone. If he had it his way, he would still be in sick hut, waiting to see if the little girl makes it through the night, but both Madam Pomfrey and Seamus shooed him out to get rest.

"Charlie and I are heading out in the morning to investigate," Daphne says, looking towards her sister.

Draco tunes her out after that, stabbing at his chicken harder than he should. When he looks up, four pair of eyes stare at him. "What?" he demands.

They all seem to hesitate. Astoria looks fierce when she speaks. "I know that you got off on the wrong foot with Charlie, but you should really try to get to know him. He's not what you think he is."

He glares at her. "I don't have to know him to know what he's like. He's going to get every person in this village just to make sure the dragons aren't harmed."

"You really have so little faith in people?" Daphne asks.

"You don't get it, okay?" he snaps. "I've been in the war chamber when they discussed measures to take against Dumbledore's Army. We are only playing a game of when they will discover us, not if. And when they do discover Hogsmeade, they will raze it to the ground to eliminate all opposition. Instead of taking measure to protect the people here, he's off gallivanting who knows where doing who knows what."

His voice must've risen higher than he thought because it's as if the entire hall has fallen silent to hear the quarrel between friends. He refuses to let himself feel embarrassed for stating his opinion.

Both Astoria and Daphne gape at him, their mouths moving around silent words. He's about to stand when Theo says, "Have you missed the fact that they have been successfully hiding for eighteen years? Whatever they're doing seems to be working. Sure, it isn't what you think they should be doing, but they're clearly doing something right."

He shifts his gaze to glare at his best friend. He can't keep the accusation out of his voice when he says, "Not you too!"

After years of friendship means that Theo is completely unaffected. He just shrugs. "I'm just stating a fact."

"I'm going home," he announces suddenly. He stands and pushes away his half-eaten plate of food. "I'll rather drink firewhiskey than have this conversation. Good night."

He stalks away, ignoring his friends calls to come back. When he gets home, he pulls out a bottle of firewhiskey he keeps to drown the bad days out and pours himself a glass.

* * *

He doesn't know what's going on at first. There's shouting outside of the sick hut, but he can't distinguish what they're saying. Debating for a second, he deems the patients are healthy enough that he can investigate the commotion.

The sick hut sits high enough that he can see that it's from the stables. He makes his way there as quickly as possible. The crowds make it difficult to get close, but he sees flashes of vibrant red hair—Weasleys.

He's just about to turn around and head back when he hears a loud sob. He stands on his tiptoes, trying to see around the people, before he gives up and starts shoving his way through the crowd. He's completely unprepared for the scene in front of him.

Molly sobbing brokenly over one of the twins bodies—a year and half later and he still can't tell them apart. The other twin rocks back and forth, occasionally reaching out to touch his brother as if to reassure himself that he was really dead. Madam Pomfrey talks in low, hushed tones with Arthur, when Charlie steps in.

He doesn't listen to hear what the man is saying to his teacher. Instead, he starts waving at the crowd. "Leave. Give them privacy. Please continue in the task you were doing before this."

There's a lot of murmuring, hand waving, and him repeating himself before the crowd starts to dissipate. When the crowd is gone, he goes back to the sick hut.

He can't stop thinking about the Weasleys, and their loss, the entire time he works. Despite how much he doesn't like what they're doing, he wouldn't wish something like this on them.

He doesn't know why he grabs a bottle of firewhiskey and two glasses and climbs the path towards the cliff after he gets off. It just feels like the right thing to do. It seems his instincts are right when the familiar redhead sits at the edge of the cliff.

Charlie glances up at him, his eyes red-rimmed. "Whatever you have to say, just...don't."

"Gods, I'm not your biggest fan, but I wouldn't purposefully pick a fight with you after a day like this one," he says, sitting next to the redhead. They've never been on the best of terms but he knows that the other man shouldn't be here by himself after his brother's death. He pours them both a glass of firewhiskey.

Charlie huffs a laugh as he takes it. "It seems that despite any good intentions, our conversation always ends in a fight."

"I'll give you that," he responds. He takes a sip of his drink, grimacing at the burn.

He doesn't try to engage the other man in conversation. He's just content to sit there, beneath the full moon, watching the stars and drinking their way through the bottle of firewhiskey in silence. Sometimes, it reminds him that he's almost insignificant in this world.

"I always thought it would be me."

Draco looks at him, surprised by his admission. "What?"

"Dying in this war," he clarifies softly, running his finger around the rim of his glass. "I thought it would be me. I would rather it be me."

"Do you think it would hurt your family less— it being you and not your brother?" he asks. He searches the blue eyes that look back at him. "Gods, you actually do, don't you?"

"At least they'd know I died doing something I loved. But this," he says, waving his hand around them, "isn't what Fred wanted to do with his life. He didn't get a chance to do what he loves. And now he won't ever get that chance."

Draco furrows his eyebrows. "Grief doesn't work that way. You don't grieve someone less knowing that they died doing what they loved."

Charlie turns away. "Wish it did. I don't know how to believe this. He just turned twenty."

He briefly remembers the ruckus the twins had caused on their birthday just the last month. They were always good for a laugh. It's odd to know that one of them isn't coming back.

"I'm going to avenge him," the redhead says fiercely, clenching his fist. "I'm going to make them pay for this."

 _This is the first time you've ever talked about getting revenge for a human_ , is on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it back. He's not here to cause an argument.

"I don't actually like knowing that people are out there fighting and dying," he says softly, as if he can read Draco's mind. "Each and every person becomes more of a reason to fight. I just can't let them die in vain."

Draco tilts his head slightly. Maybe he judged Charlie all wrong. He does seem to care about more than just dragons, but hides it well enough. There's a fierceness in his eyes as he continues talking about winning the war to honor each person it's taken from Hogsmeade. For the first time, he thinks that maybe the redhead can do it.

He chases that thought with the rest of his glass of firewhiskey.

* * *

He's enjoying a well deserved day off when Charlie walks into the stables. He's been so caught up with the outbreak of flu that he's barely been able to spend time with Elio here of late and needed to fix it.

"Everyone feeling better?" the redhead asks, making a detour to where Draco sits next to his dragon.

Draco shrugs. "For the most part. Those who aren't are over the worst part of it."

As a courtesy, Charlie holds his hand out for Elio to sniff. After a moment, Elio bumps his hand and Charlie scratches under the dragon's head with a smile.

"Have you ever met a dragon that didn't like you?" he asks curiously. Every dragon he's ever seen him interact with has taken to him almost immediately.

The other man huffs out a laugh. "Not yet. I'm sure there's bound to be one, but dragons are a good judge of character."

"I'm surprised you haven't hatched an army of dragons," he says, giving up on getting Elio's attention back.

"I wanted to," he admits, meeting Draco's eyes. "I always pictured that Bill would take over as Chief one day and I would hatch more dragons and take care of all of them. I pictured that Beauxbatons would be thriving with dragons but then Tom Riddle rose to power. I had to re-evaluate those dreams."

"You were alive when Tom Riddle became High Chief?"

Charlie laughs brightly. He feels his stomach twist at the sound. Most of the time he's been around the redhead has been he's returned from patrols or missions and needed healing. He's never heard him laugh like that before.

"I was eight when he became High Chief," he says.

Draco does the math in his head. Nearly twenty years. He's always believed that Tom Riddle had been High Chief for much longer than that.

"What was it like before?"

"Quiet, but good. Of course it wasn't perfect and there were problems, especially between the High Chief, Durmstrang, and Mahoutokoro. Some say that Tom Riddle's rise to power from Durmstrang was orchestrated," Charlie answers.

There's a long moment of silence as he absorbs the information. "What do you believe?"

Charlie's lips twitch in a sad smile. "That Dumbledore and his dragon were executed. It's a known fact that dragons can only be hatched by the person meant to care for it; majority of people hatch one, and of those, there are ones who would hatch more than one. Dumbledore was all for everyone having equal chance to hatch more than one dragon."

"That doesn't explain why he would be killed."

"Doesn't it, though? Dragons hatch only for those they find to be pure of heart. A lot of people looked down on those who couldn't hatch one because it was as good as labelling them bad people. How do you expect people who can't hatch a single dragon to feel watching as their peers hatch one? Or hatch several?" he questions.

Draco frowns. "You're not making any sense. What does hatching dragons have to do with Dumbledore's death?"

Charlie runs his hand over Elio's snout. "Tom Riddle never hatched a dragon."

"Of course he has. He's been seen riding Nagini into battles," Draco scoffs. He's never personally seen the High Chief or his dragon, but people have described the sight with such detail that he could picture him riding the inky dragon into battle.

The redhead is quiet for a long time. "You know John Dawlish, right?" When Draco nods, Charlie continues. "Before he came to Hogsmeade, he grew up in Durmstrang, where Tom Riddle is from. He's a year older than Tom is. He remembers that on his fifth birthday, Tom walked through Durmstrang's eggs and yet he didn't hatch one. Per tradition, Durmstrang's Chief, Grindelwald, allowed Tom to visit each of the other villages to see if there was a dragon that would claim Tom as their own. It never happened."

"Where did he get Nagini from then?"

Charlie shrugs. "It's not quite clear; rumor is that when he became Chief of Durmstrang following Grindelwald's death, he was gifted a dragon. But it's clear that all those years of watching his peers hatch dragons when he didn't have his own lead to his hatred of dragons."

"He requires us to slaughter dragons because the chances of being able to hatch more is low," Draco concludes, shaking his head in disbelief. Slowly, memories of walking through Koldovstoretz's stables resurface. He huffs. "That's why the number of dragons were steadily declining over the years."

"It's why Ironbellies are nearly extinct," the other man adds. "They mate once in their lifetime. The ones that were alive when Tom rose to power were slaughtered, most of them before they mated. When we left Beauxbatons, we took the two Ironbelly eggs we had. The other eggs have long since been hatched and slaughtered during the coming of age ceremony. It broke Ginny's heart every time we received word of it."

"The other Ironbelly hasn't been hatched?"

Charlie shakes his head, frowning. "It's still waiting for its human. Dragons, especially Ironbellies, are going to go extinct because of hatred."

For the first time since he stepped foot on Hogsmeade, he finally understands the root of the opposition against the High Chief. "If you took the dragon eggs from Beauxbatons, and eventually several other villages, why didn't you just stop opposing him? Why do you continue to go out there and endanger yourself and others when you've already achieved your goals?"

"If just staying to ourselves would work, we would've done that a long time ago. But Tom's hatred of dragons wants him to eradicate all traces of them from this world," Charlie explains softly. "There's only fighting because he won't let us live peacefully as long as we have dragons. We've had dragons as long as humanity has lived; it's not a tradition we want to give up. So we redirect and mislead Tom's armies to keep our way of life."

Charlie turns to look towards the vast blue water, and then back at Draco. "One day, Tom is going to learn that love is more powerful than hatred. One day, he's going to be defeated and we're going to unchain every person from the shackles he's forced on them."

There's something in how passionately the other man says this that makes Draco believe it. Charlie Weasley could move mountains and calm the raging sea with his determination alone, he's sure of it now. He doesn't think there's a person who can listen to him talk about dragons and not believe.

 _One day_ , he thinks. One day they won't be slaves to the whims of a hateful man.

* * *

Draco sits on the edge of the cliff, his feet dangling off the edge with Elio sleeping beside him, watching the waves crash against the land. The moon shines brightly tonight, without a cloud in the sky; it's a beautiful night. He probably could see hundreds of stars shining down upon him if he looks up.

His eyes flicker across the water, looking out for any danger. While he's not the biggest fan of being on guard watch, it's a necessary job to keep himself safe along with the people in the village. Anxiety creeps up his throat with each passing moment that goes by without a sign of the scouting group. They should've been back before the sun started to sink.

Finally, a spot on the horizon grows into hazy shapes and then into outlines of dragons and their riders. He lets out a sigh of relief when he counts five dragons—the same number that left two weeks ago.

Draco rouses Elio from his slumber and directs him into the stable. He knows it will be the first place any rider will land. He shifts from foot to foot as he waits for them.

Charlie is the first one to land, slipping off Elyria with practiced ease. Despite his abrasiveness, there's something about him that makes Draco's heart stutter. The redhead looks grim when he reports, "Lavender's been injured. It's bad."

Larka lands not too long after, flanked by Parvati and Padma's dragons. At first glance, he can't tell where Larka ends and Lavender begins due to the amount of blood on the blonde. Without delay, Padma and Parvati manage to move Lavender from her saddle to the ground at Draco's feet.

"Is that….are those _claw marks_?" he questions when he pulls the blood-soaked fabric away.

The right side of Lavender's face, neck, and shoulder have been all but mangled with what appears to be claw marks, too small to be from an adult dragon. The wounds are covered in dried blood. Upon closer inspection, she's flush and clammy and there's fluids leaking out of the wounds. It seems to be a miracle that she is still alive.

"We ran into Greyback, Amycus, and Alecto," Padma informs him, her lips pursed. "During the fight, Greyback used his metal claws on her. We got out of there as quickly as possible and did what we could to stop the bleeding. We've been keeping her sedated so she wouldn't be in pain."

He nods. He's a decent healer, but the extent of her injuries is way out of his league. "Madam Pomfrey will be able to help her more than I can."

Charlie steps forward and wordlessly lifts Lavender as gently as possible. "Can you two see to the dragons?"

The redhead doesn't wait for an answer as he starts towards the healer's house; he doesn't bother to stay to ask whether they are wounded since Charlie would've mentioned it despite the extent of Lavender's injuries. Draco feels a pang of guilt at the thought of waking Madam Pomfrey up after she spent the last day helping a woman through childbirth, but Lavender's wounds are beyond his skills.

She just ushers them in when he knocks. The building where they keep their injured and sick is further, but she always keeps her living room prepared just in case of emergencies like this. Charlie lays Lavender on the table as gently as he picked her up before he moves out of the healer's way.

Draco stands near the door where he can observe his teacher while staying out of her way. He tracks her movements easily, his eyes occasionally flicker to Charlie who sits on the bottom step of the stairs.

He frowns as Charlie rubbing at his wrist catches his eyes for the third time. His curiosity is piqued at this movement. Before the other man notices, Draco crosses the distance between them and grabs Charlie's hand with one hand and uses his other hand to push up the sleeve. Red, angry burns marr the length of Charlie's forearm.

"Why didn't you say something before?" he demands.

"Seemed minor in comparison. It's fine; the pain will fade in a few days," he says, shrugging.

Draco leaves long enough to find the burn cream. The other man seems reluctant to allow him to spread the cream across the angry flesh. "It wasn't your fault that she got injured."

"It was," he replies, his voice so soft, too soft. He's normally more confident which reflects in his voice. This tone sounds so _wrong_ coming from him. "I asked her to join me. I recruited her and then I couldn't protect her."

"There's a lot of things a person can do, but it doesn't include seeing the future."

Charlie huffs out a humorless laugh. His curls into himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. "No, but I should've been able to protect her."

He wonders where the redhead's determination has gone. He's never seen him look so defeated, not even when George came back carrying his twin's body. "She decided to join you. Because she believed, like we all did, when you said that there will be a day when dragons aren't slaughtered as a display of loyalty."

"But you don't believe in anything," he counters. "Especially that this is a fight worth fighting."

He remembers sitting with Charlie on the cliff overlooking the village as he recounted what peace felt like with such detail and fever that Draco could taste the freedom on his tongue.

"I believe in you," Draco admits. "If anyone can change the world with passion alone, it's you. You inspire a certain type of courage in others that is unmatched. You make people want to be heroes."

When Charlie meets his eyes, all he can see is shock. "Are you saying that you'll fight?"

"If it's you leading the army," he confirms. It terrifies him how true it is; he would follow Charlie into the gates of hell just because he asked, because there's no doubt in his mind that he couldn't change the Devil's mind. Gods help him. He's never believed in something or someone as much as he believes in the man in front of him.

Whatever Charlie's about to say is interrupted by Madam Pomfrey. Draco had all but forgotten that they are in the healer's home. "She'll have scars but she'll live. It's lucky that you got here when you did; I was only just able to counteract the infection. It'll be a long time before she wakes."

All the tension seems to drain out of Charlie, and it seems that the adrenaline has all disappeared from his body, leaving only exhaustion in its place. He murmurs a _thank you_ under his breath before he rises. There's determination gleaming in his eyes. "I need to give Dad the news."

Draco watches him leave, pleased that it doesn't seem like Charlie is drowning in guilt anymore. He settles in a chair near the roaring fireplace to allow Madam Pomfrey a chance to rest.

* * *

"I don't see why I have to do this," Draco says, holding the sword Charlie had given him. "I could be helping out in the sick hut right now."

The other man laughs at him brightly. It makes his stomach flip; he doesn't know when this attraction started, but it's been getting harder to ignore. "You said that you were going to fight. I'm teaching you how."

Draco narrows his eyes. "I do believe I said I would fight, not that I was going to."

Charlie smiles at him, wide and toothy, waving his free hand airly. "Same thing. We've been needing another healer to go with us on missions so we don't have to take Seamus on every one. But for you to join us, you need to know how to handle yourself. So, swordfighting. We'll start on the ground and then work up to swordfighting on dragonback."

Charlie swings his sword as if he's been wielding a sword all his life. There's an ease with it that Draco envies a little. His father was always adamant that Chiefs don't need swordfighting lessons because Chiefs never see battle; their people are meant to fight for them, but they are never meant to fight for their people. It was one rule Draco hated, but he could never change it because he was being watched every second of every day. He had tried once and it didn't end well for the brave soul trying to teach him.

"We're going to start with blocking," Charlie says. "I'll call out the directions I plan on going, you try to block it the best you can. Don't worry, these are blunted swords that we use for training so you won't get hurt."

Draco inhales and holds the grip tighter. He knows that if he says this isn't what he truly wants that Charlie will let him go without protest. But he finds that he doesn't want to. He finds that he's that five year old who wants to learn swordfighting.

So when Charlie calls left, he brings up the practice sword to try to block. Charlie talks the entire time—sometimes explaining, sometimes praising. It easier than Draco was expecting and requires a lot of intuition, but it's still not easy to block Charlie's attacks, even when he calls the direction.

They practice until the sun starts to sink and Draco's reactions get slower and slower. He feels like he's black and blue. Muscles he didn't know he was capable of using are sore. But there's a strange feeling of accomplishment when they put away the armour he's wearing and the sword.

"Give it a month, maybe two and you'll be a natural at it," Charlie says, wiping away the sweat on his brow. He looks pleased with himself as he tucks away his sword into the standing rack.

"You sound confident about that," Draco remarks.

Charlie bumps his shoulder against his, smiling broadly. "I have faith. You should probably look into bruise cream."

He rolls his eyes. "We'll see how well your faith works."

"Tomorrow afternoon, same place. Be there," he commands before he disappears.

Draco stays in the armory a few seconds more. Charlie isn't really anything like what he pegged the man to be when they first met.

* * *

The sound of dragons roaring stirs Draco out of his sleep. After years of being awoken to tend to injured, his sleepiness fades away in an instant. He pulls on clothes as quickly as possible and heads out. He runs into Theo and Blaise in the living room; Oliver has long since moved out and Draco's never actually considered following his lead.

The three of them share a look before grabbing the swords they keep on the wall nearest the door. Not even in his worst nightmares could Draco imagine the scene that is waiting for them on the other side of the door.

Fire is the first thing they see. The heat hits them like a wave. Their house doesn't have much of a clear view of the village—he'd have to be on the cliff to see the entire village without issue—but in each direction he looks all he sees is roaring fires.

When he looks up, he can see immediately that the real battle is happening in the sky. He can't tell which dragons, if any, are theirs because of the lack of moonlight and the fires don't do much to illuminate the night sky. The fires are only a decoy. "Stables," he shouts, just so Blaise and Theo can hear him over the sounds of the fighting.

Theo gives a sharp nod, and together they start to make their way to the stables. They are all surprised by the ease in which they make it to the stables, and it makes Draco feel uneasy.

He's relieved to see that the stables gate hasn't been breached yet. Many of the villagers had rushed towards the stables as well to ready their dragons for battle. He saddles Elio as quickly as possible, and climbs up. Elio jumps into the air without hesitation.

Glancing back, he sees Blaise climbing into Piala's saddle while Theo takes Amarya, one of the dragons whose original rider died, since he was unable to hatch another dragon after Aio.

He's not accustom to holding on to Elio's saddle with one hand and a sword with the other; the past two weeks of training has been focused on on-the-ground maneuvers. He constantly feels like he's about to fall off as Elio climbs higher into the night sky.

Once he's airborne, he can spot the difference between the dragons—the enemy have hooded protective gear on that is as black as the night sky; at first glance it makes the dragons look riderless. He targets as many of them as he can, cutting through the straps of the saddles that keep the riders on their dragons because he knows he wouldn't win a duel, especially not in the air. He uses Elio's superior speed to his advantage as he guides his dragon between the streams of fire of the others.

He hears their screams as they fall and doesn't feel guilty even though he knows that a fall from this height would most likely cripple them, if not kill them. All he can think about is that his home is being attacked and he has to defend it.

It happens in a blink of an eye: he feels the heat of the fire and urges Elio to fly lower as he sees shimmering cobalt scales and a violet eyes staring back at him and then he's falling.

A scream rips itself out of his throat. The only thing he can think of is that he's going to die, that this is karma for the ones he cut loose and didn't feel a shred of guilt for. Then he feels claws dig into his skin around his right shoulder and upper arm. His vision goes blurry with pain.

He feels the ground under his feet. His shoulder and upper arm hurt like nothing he's ever felt before. The thought of his dragon hits him hard and his pain evaporates. He spins in circles, looking desperately for his dragon.

He hears Elio's roar. When he looks, Elio is falling to the ground. His left wing looks mangled. He's going to hit the ground hard and there's absolutely nothing Draco can do to prevent it, but he runs toward him anyways.

Elio crashes. The noise he makes is like nothing he's ever heard from his dragon before. Draco drops to his knees in from of him. He doesn't have to be a dragon healer to catalog Elio's injuries. Most of the hide between the wing bones on his left wing have been clawed through which grew in size when he was falling. There are probably several broken bones from the impact.

But the worst injury is the bite marks around his neck and upper body area. The other dragon's teeth broke through the scales on Elio's body while biting. There's only three dragons that have that strength—Ironbelly, Ridgeback, and Vipertooth. Given that Ginny has the only living Ironbelly, it leaves only the Ridgebacks and Vipertooths, both of which are venomous.

There is no known cure for either dragon's venom.

Part of Draco hopes that dragons are immune to venom, but that hope is quickly squashed by Elio's pained whines and his labored breathing. He feels tears burn his eyes.

He crawls closer, gently lifting Elio's head and placing in his lap. His dragon whines in pain. As he runs his hand over Elio's head, trying desperately to bring him some comfort, he whispers, voice thick, "I'm sorry I didn't protect you like I promised."

Elio makes a noise that he can't interpret. Draco looks into his colorless, kaleidoscope eyes as he feels Elio's final breath.

He shakes with force of his grief, tears spilling down his cheeks for the first time since he was a young boy. Elio didn't deserve this. None of them deserved it.

There's a hand on his shoulder that makes him hiss. He's forgotten about the injury. Through the tears, he glances around, finally remembering why Elio was injured. The sun is rising, and there's smoke rising in the air from the fires slowly burning out. Theo stands before him, his brown hair matted with dried blood and his clothes shredded in some places.

"We won?" Draco asks, his voice rough.

Theo nods once and moves to force Draco to move from under his dragon. "We're seeing how much damage we've suffered. Seamus was knocked out during the battle and Madam Pomfrey is overwhelmed by the amount of injuries."

At that admission, Draco stops struggling against Theo's attempts. He pushes his grief and pain to the back of his mind; there's time to grieve later. Right now, he has a job to do.

* * *

When the last of the fires are put out and the last injury is seen to, the ones capable of moving congregate in the remains of the great hall. The adrenaline running through his veins has slowly been fading as he did what he could for the others. With the fading adrenaline, pain has started creeping up on him. His shoulder throbs with pain when he sits down at one of the tables.

For all of the damage Hogsmeade withstood, there is surprisingly few deaths; many had been injured in some way during the fight, but given time, they'll heal.

Wordlessly, they gather around Bill Weasley. His father, their unspoken Chief, had been one of the few badly injured during the fight. Draco hasn't had the pleasure of spending much time with Arthur's eldest son—he's always been too caught up in keeping people alive and Bill was focused on keeping them undetected—but the time he did spend made him certain that Bill always does things for the good of the villagers, and never for himself.

Dennis Creevey is the first to break the silence of the hall. The child who once followed his brother awestruck has disappeared, leaving only a furious man in his place who has become hellbent on revenge. "We are going to hit them back, right? We're going to end this once and for all?"

The hall descends into madness after the dam breaks. Everyone seems to try to speak at once. Draco can hardly tell the voices apart. Some are agreeing with Dennis, some are disagreeing. Regardless of their stance, they all try to talk over each other.

A loud, sharp whistle stuns everyone into silence. Bill stands at the center of everything, he fingers still in between in his lips in case he needs to whistle once more. When he's satisfied no one is going to interrupt, he drops his hand.

"We need to think of the people and not of our pride," he says. He turns slowly in a circle so each person feels like they were heard. "Yes, what happened here today was awful. Yes, I want this to end so no more needless suffering has to occur. But there is more than our wounded pride on the line. We have spent twenty years hiding, with not a single mistake. Then we are ambushed in the middle of the night by the very people who shouldn't have known where we were. Our safety is what matters right now."

"There is no safety for us anywhere as long as Tom Riddle remains High Chief," Parvati's father claims. There's a makeshift sling holding his broken arm still.

He's right; Draco knows this deep in his bones. As long as Tom Riddle remains High Chief they will be hunted down like dragons and slaughtered without a second thought.

"We don't have the power to take on someone as well connected and powerful as the High Chief," Charlie says solemnly and the room gasps.

Draco's heart catches in his throat. If Charlie thinks they would only be fighting a losing battle, things are worse than they thought. Charlie is endlessly optimistic even when the odds of winning are slim.

Charlie nods to his brother. "They have killed several of our dragons, wounded even more villagers, and have all but destroyed Hogsmeade. Attacking now will only lead to our deaths, and what good would that do any of us? The ships still remain unharmed. There's enough supplies on it to get us to Castelobruxo."

The corners of Bill's lip twitch. "The ones that are well enough to fly will lead decoy missions. Another group shall remain here to give the illusion we haven't left and watch over the ones not in any condition to leave. Then, when we are healed and ready, we will strike."

Their decision receives mixed reactions. Arguments break out again, rising from murmurs to screams within moments. Bill whistles once more.

"I know your pain. I feel it as if it was my own. But I want us to live. Moreso, I want this to end this war. I want to win with us victorious. Don't be confused. I am not saying that we aren't going to fight, because we are. Just _not right now_."

The silence Bill is met is deafening. Draco huffs out a laugh; giving passionate speeches must run in the family.

"I'll remain to look after the injured," he says. He doesn't miss the smile that Bill wears for a moment.

"Will anyone else remain here?" he asks, his eyes searching through the crowd, looking for the next brave soul.

Dennis is the next one to volunteer. Then Parvati and then Oliver. Before he knows it, the mood of the hall shifts from outrage to acceptance. It seems like not just Charlie who has an uncanny ability to inspire heroics.

When it's all agreed upon, people leave to get a headstart on preparing for the job they volunteered for. He goes to leave when he's stopped with a hand on the right side of his chest. He hisses involuntarily.

Any memory of what he was stopping Draco for leaves Charlie in an instant. Dumbfounded, he says, "You're injured."

"I'm fine," he lies.

Charlie rolls his eyes. He sounds fond when he orders, "Stop being such an idiot. You're not invincible, you know. Let me see."

Stunned, he stands there as the other man uses a rip in his shirt—from where the dragon bit him to save his life—to tear the shirt more without having to take it off. Charlie inhales sharply as he inspects the wound.

"You should see Madam Pomfrey," he declares softly, his fingers just a hair's inch away from the wound before he thinks better of it. "Or, at the very least, have Theo stitch them up."

He shivers as he feels Charlie's eyes on him. He watches as the other man's eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips and back to his eyes. His eyes shine brighter than Draco ever remembers them being. Before he can stop himself, Draco lightly brushes his lips against Charlie's before kissing him harder.

Draco pulls away a few moments later, gasping in pain. Charlie had moved forward just enough that his shirt brushed against the wounds.

"I should—Theo—Madam Pomfrey—"

He doesn't even try to finish his thought before he flees. He replays that moment in his mind over and over again. Sure, Charlie is attractive with his vibrant hair and kind eyes and freckles. But he's stupidly brave and an idiot and not what Draco wants in a partner _at all_.

That kiss was just because he almost died. _That's all_ , he convinces himself.

He's almost to the sick hut when he remembers why he was injured in the first place. Then the memories of Elio he's been blocking out rushes back. He feels sick to his stomach with guilt that he's alive when he swore to keep Elio away from harm.

* * *

In the end, it's anticlimactic—the end to Tom Riddle's reign as High Chief. None of them get the pleasure of tasting how it feels to stand in front of the man and declare that Tom is mortal, not a god.

As they are recuperating from the attack, the four villages that once served Tom loyally end up staging four simultaneous coups, effectively taking control of their villages while holding the Chiefs captive.

Astoria arrives with the news, riding Rhya proudly as she lands near the half-destroyed great hall, just weeks after the others set sail for Castelobruxo. Draco turns to watch the two dragons and their riders approach from the great hall, where they moved the injured to. The news must be important since they haven't received more than a single hawk since the others left.

"We won!" she declares before her feet touch the ground, excitement filling her voice. Dennis lands Aaric just moments after the brunette.

"They're requesting Chief Weasley's presence for the decision on the new High Chief and what should be done about the other Chiefs," Dennis announces. There's something childlike that shines in his eyes that hasn't been seen in ages.

Draco barely listens as Astoria recounts how her and the others meant to lead the enemy astray had managed to slip unnoticed into the villages and found allies willing to stage coups. He feels empty at the news. He thought it would make him feel better, knowing that Elio didn't die for nothing, but he doesn't.

Those who remained in Hogsmeade, too injured to be move, erupt in cheers. Astoria motions for Arthur to join her on Rhya. Arthur takes a look at his people, a smile on his face. "Thank you all, for believing in us for these last twenty years. We couldn't throw the chains of oppression off without help and it's what each and everyone of you did, regardless if you only cooked or made saddles. This is the day we will forever celebrate as the day that set us free."

His lips twitch. Charlie and Bill clearly take after their father when it comes to heartfelt speeches.

Dennis looks at him.

"You should join us. Your parents are among the Chiefs waiting to hear their punishment, after all," he says, waiting before he climbs in Aaric's saddle.

Draco hesitates for a moment. He hasn't seen his parents in years, and he didn't exactly leave on the best of terms. But he owes it to himself and them to be there when their punishment is revealed. Besides, there is something he need to hear from his father. He climbs behind Dennis in Aaric's saddle and feels the air whipping around him for the first time since Elio died.

* * *

He visits his parents in their cell beforehand. His mother stands, pressing herself against the cell bars to reach her arm out to touch his cheek.

"Draco," she whispers softly, relieved. "You're alive."

He doesn't move closer to her. "Mother. Father."

When his father meets looks at him, his face twists in disgust. "You're no son of mine."

His mother gasps, but he doesn't feel the sting of those words like he did as a child. He gets straight to the point. "You killed Elio. I saw Haco just moments before he was bit."

"I was doing you a favor," his father answers, sounding proud. "You should be thankful. That dragon was completely useless. I was turning you into the man you should've been years ago. You could've been the next High Chief. And what do you do? You run away like a coward."

He tastes bile in the back of his throat. He's never felt more disgusted in a person before. He didn't think his father would be so malicious as to kill his son's dragon, but it seems like he was wrong. He opens his mouth to speak but a voice rings out instead.

"Draco's more a man than you'll ever be."

They all turn towards the newcomer. Charlie stands with his arms folded across his chest. He had avoided the redhead in the days after their kiss until he had left with the others, but he finds the weeks apart doesn't stop his heart from flipping at the sight of him.

"As if the opinion of a Weasley has any worth. How your family ever became Chief of Beauxbatons is beyond me," his father sneers.

He really looks at his father. The years haven't been kind. His blond hair looks greasy and it's clear that he's lost weight by the way his clothes hang off his frame. All he wonders is why he ever yearned for his father's approval in the first pace. This was all the closure he needs; he was never going to be the son his father wanted.

"Is it time?" he asks. When Charlie nods, he spares his mother one last look before he leaves. He leans against the wall outside and takes a few deep breaths.

"This isn't going to break you," Charlie tells him. He looks like he's never believed anything more wholeheartedly that the words he's saying. "You're made of stronger stuff than your father."

He knows they need to talk about the kiss, because somewhere along the way, he started to think about the way Charlie's face lights up when he's happy, and the way his lips wrap around his name. But now isn't the time for that and Charlie seems to agree because he doesn't bring it up.

Instead, they watch as the Chiefs collectively nominate Kingsley Shacklebolt as the new High Chief. Kingsley announces the sentences of the previous Chiefs—life imprisonment, to be carried out on the High Council island, under constant supervision. He's barely gotten the words out of his mouth before there is a large number of people volunteering to be guards.

Charlie slips his hand into Draco's when Kingsley announces the former High Chief's fate. For Tom Riddle, nothing short of execution would satisfy the masses so it's an execution they get. Draco thinks it's far too kind of a sentence after everything he has done, but there's still a sense of satisfaction that when his dragon, Nagini, is released from her chains, she doesn't need any coaxing to eat him alive.

* * *

"I understand you wanted to see me," Draco says hesitantly.

The new High Chief, Kingsley, stands before a map, studying it, when he comes in. He hasn't had the pleasure of meeting the man before, as he was working undercover in Mahoutokoro for years, quietly feeding Dumbledore's Army intel. His eyes are warm when he looks up and he gives Draco a smile.

"Yes, I did. You see, I'm facing a bit of a dilemma and I was hoping you could help," he answers, motioning Draco forward. Hogsmeade has been added to the map that he's studying. "I have nine islands, four of which are all but burned to the ground. Of course the Weasleys want to reclaim and rebuild Beauxbatons. That still leaves me with five villages."

"I'm failing to see the problem here," he admits.

Kingsley nods. "Understandable. My issue is that the five surviving villages lack Chiefs since they're previous ones have been incarcerated. Chiefdom is a hard thing to change, especially after twenty years."

Draco's eyes snap up to meet the man's dark eyes, understanding dawning on him. "You want me to become Chief of Koldovstoretz."

"Yes," he replies easily. "The people of Koldovstoretz already knows you. There would be little resistance for you to step into power."

He shakes his head once. "I can't. My people won't accept me. I am nothing more than a coward in their eyes. They won't follow a coward. Even if they would, I'm not fit to be a Chief."

"You have little faith in people," Kingsley remarks.

Draco doesn't admit there's only one person he truly believes in. Charlie will be joining his family in rebuilding Beauxbatons, and he wants to see that. "Ivan Greengrass. He may be a traitor in their eyes, but he'll figure out how to make the people of Koldovstoretz trust him, given time of course. People would be more willing to follow a traitor than a coward; at least a traitor had enough bravery to fight for what they believe in whereas a coward only runs in the face of trouble."

The other man rubs at his chin, deep in thought. When he finally refocuses on Draco, there's something unreadable in his dark eyes. "While I'll disagree that your people won't grow to share the same kind of trust you believe they will show Ivan, I shall ask him to become the Chief instead. If you're sure you really don't want this."

"I'm sure. I can't lead people if my heart isn't in it," he replies, "and my heart isn't in it."

"Thank you for your honesty," Kingsley says. The hint of a smile he was baring disappears quickly. "There is one other matter I wish to speak to you about. Your mother played a key role in detaining your father, even if he is unaware of it, to help ensure less bloodshed. For a sacrifice like that, I don't wish for her to suffer the same punishment as the other Chiefs. The only solution I have is placing her in your care."

He mulls over that for a long moment. "Why my care? There are plenty of people that could watch over her."

"You're her son," Kingsley says simply, as if it answered all the questions he has.

He remembers how relieved she was to see him standing outside her cell. Remembers the way she smiled encouragingly at him when he was hatching Elio. He's missed his mother fiercely in the past three years, but he's always figured that he wasn't the son she had hoped for. Maybe it's time to see if she shared the same sentiment as his father. There's a part of him, deep down, that knows she doesn't.

"I accept."

Kingsley flashes him a smile, as if he already anticipated Draco's decision. "I'll have one of the guards retrieve her from her cell, along with her dragon, and they will be released into your custody."

"Thank you," he says, giving the other man a sharp nod.

He waits in the courtyard for the guards to bring him his mother. She looks just as she had in the cell—worn and exhausted. That's something he'll have to deal with when they make it to Hogsmeade. Right now, he wants to be as far away from the High Council as possible before Kingsley informs the others of his decision to release his mother.

* * *

Draco hops off Elyria as soon as she lands. He hears Charlie chuckle at him, but elects to ignore it. His mixed emotions of potentially hatching another companion fades into confusion. This is nothing more than a destroyed village. "I thought we were going to the eggs."

Charlie gives him a soft smile. "How'd you expect us to keep them hidden all these years?" He looks pointedly around the burnt remains of what was once Hogwarts before Tom Riddle became High Chief. "Hogwarts had a dragon cave that was only rivaled by Koldovstoretz's. The Potters, knowing it was very likely they'd die, made sure that the eggs would be thought to be lost forever when Hogwarts was razed to the ground; in reality, they created a different way into the caves that undetectable. Come."

Charlie pats Elyria affectionately, before unhooking the container from the back of the saddle. Then he leads Draco to a small shell of a house near the coast. He sets down the container of a warm chicken blood mix in the middle of the room. In the corner, covered by debris, Charlie pulls on an inconspicuous handle and pulls up a trap door; it impresses Draco with how well concealed it is.

The underground tunnel is dark and damp, but Charlie leads the way with a small lit torch. When the tunnel expands into the dragon cave, it's breathtaking. Draco suddenly remembers how it felt seeing all the eggs at five, the way that his mother had encouraged him to follow the feeling in his chest. His heart aches at the memory.

There's so many eggs that he's amazed that they all fit. Theo had come back from this cave years ago—a lifetime ago—filled with awe, and Draco understand it now. The cave is larger than Koldovstoretz's, and he can see the area where there's a large amount of rubble, which he assumes is the decoy.

He takes a step into the cave, and immediately feels the tug in his gut. Carefully, he navigates his way through the eggs. He stops before the largest egg in the room—an Ironbelly; he thought that Aoibh was the last of her kind. Mesmerised, Draco reaches out to touch it. The blue scales concooning the egg seem to match Charlie's eyes. The scales feel cooler than he's expecting.

He pulls his hand away as his mouth forms around the dragon's name: "Sarkis."

Unlike Elio's hatching fifteen years ago, this egg doesn't shake when the dragon's name is spoken. From the top, the scales seem to fall away, almost like a flower blooming, leaving behind a black shell. It shakes once, twice, three times before the shell breaks into pieces.

Sarkis shakes the remaining shell pieces off himself. He's bigger than Elio was, with inky hide covering his lanky body. The membrane in between his wings is grey instead of translucent.

He sticks out his hand for Sarkis, marvelling at the fact that even just hatched, he comes up to Draco's waist.

He's so caught up in his thoughts that he forgot that he's not there alone. He startles when Charlie speaks, "We should get him something to eat. Or at least something to tide him over until we can get more. Aoibh ate more food than any newly hatched dragon I'd ever seen."

"Aoibh must've been bigger than your sister was," Draco comments as he tries to pick up Sarkis without success. He's much heavier than a candlestick.

Charlie laughs loudly, joy written on his face. "That she was; Ginny was always small in comparison, but she never cared. She was more than happy to follow Aoibh around."

He looks between the two of them, frowning. He's not seeing a feasible way to get Sarkis out. "You must've had difficulties getting Aoibh out."

"Come on," the redhead says, leading them back towards the cave entrance. "Since there's actual hide between the Ironbellies' wing instead of just membrane, they can glide. Just watch."

Sarkis looks at Draco with his vibrant red eyes and tilts his head. Then he uses an egg in front of him to give him some height, and then another, before using a final egg to jump, gliding towards the entrance. Draco's relieved when it looks like the eggs Sarkis used as leverage are unharmed.

While it seems Sarkis instinctively knows how to glide, his dragon doesn't seem to know how to land. He tumbles into a stop in from of them and Draco feels a smile tug at his lips. He had been worried that he'd feel guilty, wanting to replace Elio with another, but he doesn't. Elio saw him through a lot, some good and some bad; he hopes that Sarkis will only see him through good times.

Sarkis follows the two of them in a sort of crawling motion, or what Draco considers the dragon equivalent to a child crawling. Between the two of them, they manage to get Sarkis out of the trapdoor and into the half-standing house. Before either of them can stop him, Sarkis nudges the lid off the container of food and starts eating.

He watches fondly as his dragon eats enthusiastically. He feels Charlie bumping his shoulder against his.

"Is this what you imagined when you thought about your future?" Charlie asks.

He shakes his head, and slips his hand into the other man's. He uses it to pull Charlie towards himself. He kisses him softly, a promise of things to go. Pulling back, he gives Charlie a soft smile. "I don't think I could imagine this even if I tried."

His father may be confined to High Council island with no hope of escaping, the villages may be in chaos in the wake of Tom Riddle's defeat, and Elio may be dead, but Draco feels hope blossoming in his chest as he watches Sarkis eat.

Maybe this is the start to a new age of dragons and peace.

* * *

Hogwarts, assignment 1: Archeology, task 4 - Write a fic spanning 20 years

Writing month: 17,435

Dragons: 17,435

Disney: S3 - Write about someone flying

Cookie's: Cast on - Write about characters meeting for the first time.

Book Club: Ofglen - (scenario) joining a rebel cause, (word) Friendship, (word) Underground

Showtime: 13. Gold

Amber's Attic: Unicorn - Write about innocence. (5 bonus points)

Buttons: S3 - Come a little closer, it's alright/ I'll be your character with flaws tonight/ Come a little closer, my firefly /You're not the only one who doesn't want to/ be alone tonight, D5 - "You don't get it, okay?", C3 - Bill Weasley, W5 - Malicious

Lyrics: 23. We are warriors

Ami's Audio: 4. Write about something rare

Em Emporium: Sam - write a fic featuring dragons/over 5k

Angel's Arcade: Lui Kang: (color) red, (word) hero, (emotion) determined

Lo's Lowdown: Q5 - "Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all." - Emily Dickinson

Film: 26. "We won!"

Tearoom: Multicoloured Macarons: (action) Kissing

Gobstones: bronze - freedom; accuracy - cobalt, power - "you don't get it, okay?", technique - disgust

Holmes: (action) hugging

Chocolate frogs: (Gold) Bran the Bloodthirsty - someone committing murder without using magic

Days: National Kissing Day: Write about someone being kissed

Summer: (word) Ocean

Colors: cream

Flowers: Aster - (word) Attractive

Shay's musicals: 2. write about someone fighting for what they believe in

Gryffindors: trait - passionate, color - gold

Insane: 522. Action - Flying

365: 205. Plot Point - A character runs away


End file.
